Why shouldn't I work for the N.S.A.? That's a tough one, but I'll take a shot. Say I'm workin' at the N.S.A. and somebody puts a code on my desk, somethin' no one else can break. Maybe I take a shot at it, maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself, 'cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. And once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels are hidin'. Fifteen hundred people that I never met, I never had no problem with, get killed. Now the politicians are sayin', 'Oh, send in the Marines to secure the area,' 'cause they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there gettin' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number got called 'cause they were out pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some kid from Southie over there takin' shrapnel in the ass. He comes back to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, 'cause he'll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks.
Meanwhile he realizes the only reason he was over there in the first place was so that we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the little skirmish over there to scare up domestic oil prices. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain't helpin' my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. They're takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, of course, maybe they even took the liberty of hirin' an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and fuckin' play slalom with the icebergs. It ain't too long 'til he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So now my buddy's out of work. He can't afford to drive, so he's walkin' to the fuckin' job interviews, which sucks because the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorroids. And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat, the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State.
So what did I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. I figure, fuck it, while I'm at it, why not just shoot my buddy, take his job, give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I could be elected president.

You don't know about real loss, 'cause that only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much.

So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the Pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right: "Once more into the breach, dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, and watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on Earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of Hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sittin' up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause that only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much.I look at you. I don't see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine. You ripped my fuckin' life apart. You're an orphan, right? [nodding]Do you think I'd know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, 'cause I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can't learn anything from you I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't wanna do that, do you, sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.

[Grabbing Will by the throat when he insults Sean's dead wife] If you ever disrespect my wife again, I will end you. I will fucking end you!

Clark: There's no problem. I was just hoping you could give me some insight into the evolution of the market economy in the southern colonies. My contention is that prior to the Revolutionary War the economic modalities, especially of the southern colonies could most aptly be characterized as agrarian pre-capitalist and...

Will: [interrupting] Of course that's your contention. You're a first year grad student. You just got finished some Marxian historian, Pete Garrison prob’ly, you’re gonna be convinced of that until next month when you get to James Lemon, then you’re gonna be talkin’ about how the economies of Virginia and Pennsylvania were entrepreneurial and capitalist way back in 1740. That's gonna last until next year, you’re gonna be in here regurgitating Gordon Wood, talkin’ about you know, the Pre-revolutionary utopia and the capital-forming effects of military mobilization.

Clark: [taken aback] Well, as a matter of fact, I won't, because Wood drastically underestimates the impact of —

Will: ..."Wood drastically underestimates the impact of social distinctions predicated upon wealth, especially inherited wealth..." You got that from Vickers. "Work in Essex County," Page 98, right? Yeah I read that too. Were you gonna plagiarize the whole thing for us — you have any thoughts of — of your own on this matter? Or do — is that your thing, you come into a bar, you read some obscure passage and then you pretend — you pawn it off as your own — your own idea just to impress some girls? Embarrass my friend?

[Clark is stunned]

Will: See the sad thing about a guy like you, is in about 50 years you’re gonna start doin' some thinkin' on your own and you’re gonna come up with the fact that there are two certainties in life. One, don't do that. And two, you dropped a hundred and fifty grand on a fuckin’ education you coulda' got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the Public Library.

Clark: Yeah, but I will have a degree, and you'll be serving my kids fries at a drive-thru on our way to a skiing trip.

Will: [smiles] Yeah, maybe. But at least I won't be unoriginal.

Will: [about Skylar] Don't worry about me, I know what I'm doin'. Yeah, but this girl is like, you know, beautiful. She's smart. She's funny. She's different from most of the girls I've been with.

Sean: So, call her up, Romeo.

Will: Why? So I can realize she's not that smart, that she's fuckin' boring? Y'know? I mean...this girl is like fuckin' perfect right now, I don't wanna ruin that.

Sean: Maybe you're perfect right now. Maybe you don't wanna ruin that. I think that's a super philosophy, Will, that way you can go through your entire life without ever having to really know anybody...My wife used to fart when she was nervous. She had all sorts of wonderful idiosyncrasies. You know what? She used to fart in her sleep. [they laugh] Sorry I shared that with you. One night it was so loud it woke the dog up. She woke up and gone like "oh was that you?" I'd say yeah...I didn't have the heart to tell her...[cracks up] Oh God...

Will: [laughing hysterically] She woke herself up?

Sean: [in hysterics himself] Yes!.... Oh Christ....aahhh, but, Will, she's been dead two years and that's the shit I remember. [Will stops laughing] Wonderful stuff, you know, little things like that. Ah, but, those are the things I miss the most. The little idiosyncrasies that only I knew about. That's what made her my wife. Oh, and she had the goods on me, too; she knew all my little peccadillos. People call these things imperfections, but they're not — aw that's the good stuff. And then we get to choose who we let into our weird little worlds. You're not perfect, sport. And let me save you the suspense. This girl you met, she isn't perfect either. But the question is: whether or not you're perfect for each other. That's the whole deal. That's what intimacy is all about. Now you can know everything in the world, sport, but the only way you're findin' out that one is by givin' it a shot. You certainly won't learn from an old fucker like me. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell a pissant like you.

Will: Why not? You told me every other fuckin' thing. Jesus Christ. Fuckin' talk more than any shrink I ever seen in my life.

Sean: I teach this shit, I didn't say I know how to do it.

Will: Yeah...You ever think about gettin' remarried?

Sean: My wife's dead.

Will: Hence the word: remarried.

Sean: She's dead.

Will: Yeah...Well, I think that's a super philosophy, Sean. I mean that way you could actually go through the rest of your life without ever really knowing anybody.

Sean: [smiles uncomfortably] Time's up.

Will: So, when did you know, like, that she was the one for you?

Sean: October 21st, 1975.

Will: Jesus Christ. You know the fuckin' date?

Sean: Oh yeah. Cus' it was game six of the World Series. Biggest game in Red Sox history.

Will: Yeah, sure.

Sean: My friends and I had, you know, slept out on the sidewalk all night to get tickets.

Will: You got tickets?

Sean: Yep. Day of the game. I was sittin' in a bar, waitin' for the game to start, and in walks this girl... Oh it was an amazing game, though. You know, bottom of the 8th Carbo ties it up at a 6-6. It went to 12. Bottom of the 12th, in stepped Carlton Fisk. Old Pudge. Steps up to the plate, you know, and he's got that weird stance.

Will: Yeah, yeah.

Sean: And BAM! He clocks it. High fly ball down the left field line! Thirty-five thousand people, on their feet, yellin' at the ball, but that's not because of Fisk. He's wavin' at the ball like a madman.

Will: Yeah, I've seen...

Sean: He's going, "Get over! Get over! Get OVER!" And then it HITS the foul pole. OH, he goes apeshit, and 35,000 fans, you know, they charge the field, you know?

Will: Yeah, and he's fuckin' bowlin' police out of the way!

Sean: Goin', "God! Get out of the way! Get 'em away!" Banging people...

Will: I can't fuckin' believe you had tickets to that fuckin' game!

Sean: Yeah!

Will: Did you rush the field?

Sean: No, I didn't rush the fuckin' field, I wasn't there.

Will: What?

Sean: No — I was in a bar havin' a drink with my future wife.

Will: You missed Pudge Fisk's homerun?

Sean: Oh yeah.

Will: To have a fuckin' drink with some lady you never met?

Sean: Yeah, but you shoulda seen her. She was a stunner.

Will: I don't care if Helen of Troy walks in the room, that's game six!

Sean: Oh, Helen of Troy...

Will: Oh my God, and who are these fuckin' friends of yours they let you get away with that?

Sean: Oh... They had to.

Will: W-w-w-what'd you say to them?

Sean: I just slid my ticket across the table and I said, "Sorry guys, I gotta see about a girl."

Will: I gotta go see about a girl?

Sean: Yeah.

Will: That's what you said? And they let you get away with that?

Sean: Oh yeah. They saw in my eyes that I meant it.

Will: You're kiddin' me.

Sean: No, I'm not kiddin' you, Will. That's why I'm not talkin' right now about some girl I saw at a bar twenty years ago and how I always regretted not going over and talking to her. I don't regret the 18 years I was married to Nancy. I don't regret the six years I had to give up counseling when she got sick. And I don't regret the last years when she got really sick. And I sure as hell don't regret missin' the damn game. That's regret.

Chuckie: Since this is obviously not my first time in such altercations, let me say this: [rubs thumb and fingers together, signifying cash] Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.

[The executives are silent]

Chuckie: At the current time I am looking at a number of different fields from which to disseminate which offer is most pursuant to my benefit. What do you want? What do I want? What does anybody want? Leniency.

Chuckie: [pointing to one of the executives] He knows what I'm talking about. A retainer. Nobody in this town works without a retainer. You think you can find someone who does, you have my blessin'. But I think we all know that person isn't going to represent you as well as I can.

Chuckie: Whoa-oh-oh... ea--now I didn't say that. Allegedly, your situation — for you — would be concurrently improved if I had $200 in my back pocket right now.

[The executives exchange looks and go for their wallets.]

Executive 1: Well, I don't think I...Larry?

Executive 2: I've got, uh... $73.

Executive 1: Will you take a check?

Chuckie: [to Executive 1] Let me tell you something. You're suspect. [He stands, slowly approaches Executives.] Yeah, you. I don't know what your reputation is in this town, but after the shit you tried to pull today, you can bet I'll be looking into you. [Takes money off the table]. Now the business we have heretofore you can speak with my aforementioned attorney. Good day gentlemen, and until that day comes, keep your ear to the grindstone.

Skylar: Well, what aren't you scared of? You live in this safe little world where no one challenges you and you're scared shitless to do anything else but defend yourself because that would mean you'd hafta' change.

Will: Oh no. Don't, don't, don't tell me about my world. Don't tell me about my world! I mean you just wanna have your fling with like the guy from the other side of town. Then you're going to go off to Stanford, you're going to marry some rich prick who your parents will approve of and just sit around with the other trust fund babies and talk about how you went slumming too, once.

Skylar: Why are you saying this? What is your obsession with this money? My father died when I was 13 and I inherited this money. You don't think that every day I wake up and wish I could give it back? That I would give it back in a second if I could have one more day with him? But I can't, and that's my life and I deal with it. So don't put your shit on me when you're the one that's afraid.

Will: I'm afraid? What am I afraid of? What the fuck am I afraid of?

Skylar: You're afraid of me! You're afraid that I won't love you back! Fuck it, I wanna give it a shot! At least I'm honest with you.

Sean: Do you have a soul mate?

Will: Define that.

Sean: Someone you can relate to.

Will: Chuckie.

Sean: No, Chuckie's family. He'd lie down in fuckin' traffic for you. I'm talking about someone who opens things up for you.

Sean: You can't give back to them. You can't have a lot of dialogue with them.

Will: Not without a heater and some serious smelling salts. [laughs]

Sean: Yeah. Well, that's what I'm saying. You'll never have that kind of a relationship in a world where you're always afraid to take the first step because all you see is every negative thing 10 miles down the road.

Gerry: In 1905, there were hundreds of professors renowned for their studies of the universe, but it was a 26-year-old Swiss patent clerk doing physics in his spare time who changed the world. Can you imagine if Einstein would have given that up just so he could get drunk with his buddies in Vienna? We all would have lost something. [gestures condescendingly to the bartender] Tim would never have heard of him.

Sean: Pretty dramatic, Gerry.

Gerry: No it's not, Sean. This boy has that gift, he just doesn't have the direction for it. We can give him that.

Sean: Hey Gerry, in the 1960s there was a young man who had just graduated from the University of Michigan who was doing brilliant work in mathematics, specifically bounded harmonic functions. Then he went to Berkeley, where he was an assistant professor and showed amazing potential. Then he moved to Montana and blew the competition away.

Chuckie: Look, you're my best friend, so don't take this the wrong way. In 20 years, if you're still livin' here, comin' over to my house to watch the Patriots games, still workin' construction, I'll fuckin' kill you. That's not a threat, that's a fact. I'll fuckin' kill you.

Will: What the fuck are you talkin' about?

Chuckie: Look, you got somethin' that none of us —

Will: Oh, come on! Why is it always this, I mean, "I fuckin' owe it to myself to do this or that?" What if I don't want to?

Chuckie: No. No, no, no. No, fuck you. You don't owe it to yourself. You owe it to me. 'Cause tomorrow I'm gonna wake up and I'll be 50. And I'll still be doing this shit. And that's all right, that's fine. I mean, you're sittin' on a winning lottery ticket and you're too much of a pussy to cash it in. And that's bullshit. `Cause I'd do anything to fuckin' have what you got. So would any of these fuckin' guys. It'd be an insult to us if you're still here in 20 years. Hanging around here is a fuckin' waste of your time.

Will: You don't know that.

Chuckie: I don't?

Will: No. You don't know that.

Chuckie: Oh, I don't know that? Let me tell you what I do know. Every day I come by your house and I pick you up. And we go out we have a few drinks and a few laughs, and it's great. You know what the best part of my day is? It's for about 10 seconds from when I pull up to the curb to when I get to your door. Because I think maybe I'll get up there and I'll knock on the door and you won't be there. No goodbye, no see you later, no nothin'. Just left. I don't know much, but I know that.

Will: [Sean is going through Will's profile. Inside we see are pictures of Will after brutal assaults by his foster parents] You ever have any, uh, experience with that?

Sean: Twenty years of counseling, I've seen some pretty awful shit.

Will: No. I mean, have you ever had any experience with that?

Sean: Personally? Yeah. Yeah I have.

[Sean looks away for a moment]

Will: I'm sure it ain't good.

Sean: My father was an alcoholic. Mean fuckin' drunk. Used to come home hammered, looking to wail on someone. So I had to provoke him, so he wouldn't go after my mother and little brother. Interesting nights were when he wore his rings...

Will: He used to just put a belt, a stick, and a wrench on the kitchen table and say, "Choose."

Sean: Well, I gotta go with the belt there Vanna.

Will: I used to go with the wrench.

Sean: Why?

Will: Cause fuck him, that' why.

Sean: Your foster father?

Will: Yeah.

[pause]

Will: So what does it say? Will has an attachment disorder? Fear of abandonment? Is that why I broke up with Skylar?

Sean: Didn't know you had. Wanna talk about it?

[Will shakes his head, stares off]

Sean: Will, you see this, all this shit?

[Holds up the file, and drops it on his desk]

Sean: It's not your fault.

Will: [Softly, still staring off] I know...

Sean: No you don't. It's not your fault.

Will: [Serious] I know.

Sean: No. Listen to me son. It's not your fault.

Will: I know that.

Sean: It's not your fault.

[Will is silent, eyes closed]

Sean: [steps closer] It's not your fault.

Will: [choking up] Don't fuck with me Sean. Not you.

Sean: [steps even closer] It's not your fault.

[Will shoves Sean back, and then, hands trembling, buries his face in his hands. Will begins sobbing. Sean puts his hands on Will's shoulders, and Will grabs him and holds him close, crying]

Will: Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry Sean!

[Will and Sean hug at their last meeting]

Will: Hey, does this violate the uh...patient-doctor relationship?

Sean: Only if you grab my ass.

Will: [voiceover, in a letter to Sean] Dear Sean, tell the professor sorry about the job. I had to go see about a girl.